


Masquerade

by AParisianShakespearean



Series: Dragon Age One Shots [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Noir, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fake Marriage, Modern AU, NSFW, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:46:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AParisianShakespearean/pseuds/AParisianShakespearean
Summary: Often they had touched each other. This time, it was different.





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elalavella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elalavella/gifts).



Often they had touched during their time together. Touches like the holding of hands, his palm on the small of her back, or the briefest caress across her arm as they sat together. They had been assigned together for this mission under the Inquisition, and it was, after all, essential that they maintain the ruse. Innocent touches here and there, such as his hand on the small of her back as he introduced her as his wife, were all parts of the elaborate ruse the Inquisition used to get the necessary information.

Their “marriage,” was all a masquerade, their identities as husband and wife a mask. Ela would have even said they wore them well. No one would have even have guessed it was all a ploy. And perhaps that was because, there was a part of her that didn’t need to act. Because when she reciprocated his touch, she wore no mask. She was all Ela.

It remained unspoken in the two weeks spent at the hotel as they scouted, how her breath caught when he pulled her into his embrace, or how looking into his amber and honey colored eyes made her quiver. He was a powerful man, had a voice that commanded others to listen, and a presence that exuded strength. Yet the simplest things could fluster him and make him blush. When she called him “vhenan” for the first time, even though he didn’t know what it meant, he turned a light red, and carelessly ran a hand through his golden hair. Then she told him the meaning, and even more did he become flushed. It endeared her that he could become like that, so flushed and flustered. Then he took her into his arms after, and she forgot about anything else, save she was with him. She was with him, and she wanted.

Everything changed that night. Everything changed with that one touch.

They were together in the hotel’s lobby, in a table far away from everyone else. They were off for the night, free of duty. It was quiet and calm, and even the music the band played in the ballroom was melodic and gentle. And as they sipped wine from the bar and listened, Ela felt the press of his thigh against hers.

She half expected him to move away. There was no need for a pretense on that night. None of their targets were around. They had nothing to prove to no one. Yet he did not move away, and it felt different from the other times he touched her. He even smiled at her. There was always a warmth in his smile, yes, but this warmth was a different kind. The smile wasn’t part of a mask he donned. She wanted to see more of it.

It was the smile, and the warmth in it that, perhaps mingled with the wine that made her drift closer to him. “I like the way you look tonight,” she said. Perhaps it was also the wine that made her say that as well, but it was true. Coupled with black slacks, he wore a white buttoned-down shirt, with the shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the few sparse golden hairs that were on his chest. The shirt too was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing the sinews of his arms, and the strength of his hands.

Once again, the simplest things making him flustered, Cullen’s ears turned a little red, and he thanked her for the compliment. “You…you look beautiful as well,” he said, and she didn’t tell him how when she was alone her room, she had chosen that pale blue dress, one with sleeves that hung loosely at her shoulders, because she wondered if he may like it. She merely thanked him, sipping her wine, and began to sway with the music that played. She could still feel his eyes on her, drinking her in. Anyone else it would have been unwelcome, an invasion, yet Cullen’s eyes on her were different. More than a welcome. A longing, a wish for more. More of him.

It was a struck of boldness that compelled her to ask him to dance.

“Dance?” he asked, eyes wide. “I’m not very good at it.”

“Come on,” she said, tugging at his shirt. “It would be fun. Dance with me.”

They put up walls when they were together. It was necessary. In their trade, a lack of walls and boundaries was a certain way to get them killed. But as Cullen stood and offered his hand in a dance, the walls were almost gone. They had started to disappear that day already, but as she rose, took his hand, and began to sway with him to the melody, she didn’t see them at all anymore. All she saw was Cullen. All she felt was him, wonderful and beautiful, who possessively held her against his frame, the way lovers who had been together a thousand years did. Cullen, her partner. Someone who flustered easily, man whose laugh she loved, and laugh she wanted more of. She liked this, being close to him in this way with no pretense behind it, no reason for him to pull her closer into him. They simply were and existed. Not agents. Just Cullen and Ela.

“Ela.”

He said her differently. More intimate than he had before. Better.

She felt the slide of his hand down her back, a hand that lingered and remained, because it was what he wanted, and not because it was something he should do to maintain the ruse. It was what she wanted too, him to keep his hands on her. She loved his hands, loved the way he touched. Loved the way he spoke to her, asking her about what she would do, when this was all over. 

“Cullen.” Her heart beat a million beats. She loved the way his name sounded, loved to say it. “I don’t want to think about that now. I just want this.”

“But I won’t want to move on when this is over.”

His touch started the change, yes, yet those words made it impossible for the two to never go back. “We don’t have to,” she said, embracing it. Knowing there would be consequences, but not caring. A miracle had happened. He wanted what she wanted. How could she care about the consequences?

“Cullen,” she whispered, enamored.

They stopped swaying with the music, but the dance didn’t stop. It continued between them, between their eyes. He wove his fingers through the long wisps of hair that fell past her shoulders. He took her face in his hands, brushed his thumbs against her cheek. Then he leaned down, and took her lips in a kiss.

So soft it was, tentative as well. He asked through his kiss if he should, if they should. If this was even smart. A small part of her still wrapped in duty protested this wasn’t right, but another, much louder part of her was spinning and soaring. Wanted, demanded: more. Everything.

She didn’t know if it was her or him that pulled them away from the floor, back to the lobby and to the elevator. She was still spinning, and his arm was wrapped possessively around her waist, hand splayed across her hip as he punched in their floor number. They were the only two in the elevator, and she considered briefly that perhaps they may not be able to hold themselves together. She thought perhaps maybe they would not want to. But Cullen made himself content with drinking her in, gaze hungry as his eyes swept up and down her form. She saw his eyes undress her, and all too eagerly, Ela did the same, shaking with want, infuriated they had to have a room on the highest level.

Soft bearded kisses were pressed against her temple as the elevator stopped, allowing more people to filter in. He didn’t break their contact, instead he kept her close to him, and in a struck of boldness, she kissed the soft hollow of his throat. A low gasp escaped his lips, a gasp he poorly hid considering they were surrounded by others, but she didn’t care what they thought or what they said as she became thrilled at the feel of him and his arousal, pressed warmly against her thigh. She thought of it underneath her hands…inside her…

At last, the elevator stopped to their floor. They all but dashed out of the elevator and into the floor, Cullen leading her to her door. She had been bubbling, bursting with her longing, but when the door to his room opened and they became entwined and entangled together, something changed. The door was locked, no one was around to stop them, and they had an entire night together, free of the masquerade, free of their masks. They had a full night to be only Cullen and Ela. A couple, bereft of duty, who wanted and lusted after each other. They were slow then, at least at first. Slow in their kisses, and slow in the way they undressed each other.

With each undone button on his shirt, Ela savored each new expanse of skin, not letting one place become untouched by her lips. He had scars—of course she did, and she kissed every one she came across with a tender ardor. She would kiss every one and make sure she let him know, he would never have to feel that sort of pain when they were together.

As he backed up toward the bed, sitting, she followed. She was astride him, and as she continued lavish his neck with kisses, she became aware of how his arousal was pressed against her heat. She gasped at the feel of it, paired with the tug he made trying to get her dress off. Then, without warning, she froze.

“Ela?” Cullen asked her, stopping his ministrations, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t believe her, and for a moment there were no words, though they were still wrapped in each other’s arms. He did not look at her in judgment, nor did he push her to say anything. She had been so caught in him before, that she didn’t think to say that she had never done something like this with anyone else.

But she didn’t need to say it, because he understood. And he kissed her tenderly, and told her they did not have to go where she did not wanted. What they had done already, and hearing her say she wanted to be with him, was already more than he hoped.

It was enough for him. Not for her.

“I want,” she pleaded, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “I want you.”

“How?”

“Everywhere.” Rough, soft, she didn’t care. She just wanted it to last, and she wanted it with him.

“If you want us to stop—”

“I know. Cullen. I know. But don’t stop. Please.”

He was slow to remove her clothes, as if he expected her to retract. She didn’t know how to tell him rough, harder, so she showed him, making haste in the removal of it as well as reaching around, unsnapping her breast band. It fell to the floor, and for the first time, she felt the prickle of his stubble against her bare skin, felt her arousal grow tenfold as he lavished attention on her breasts, taking them in his hand. Her moans compelled him to touch her here, there and everywhere, coupled with the way she deluged him in kisses and caresses, nails scratching his back and creating half moons on his skin. More, she begged of him in her touches, demanded. More he gave.

His transformation from tentative, loving and tender was slow at first, then it was all at once that he became needy and demanding, turning the two of them around until she was pressed against the bed. She was thrilled, and that thrill became prolonged as he grasped her wrists and threw them over her head. She was nearly nude before his gaze, surrendered to him and his lust, and as he pressed his weight into her, sliding his hips this way and that way between her thighs to give himself some sort of relief, she sighed, her body loosening. Surrendering further. Melting. Falling. Becoming undone.

There were the sounds of two dull thuds, the sound of his shoes being kicked off and onto the floor. He let go of her wrists, eyes devilishly letting her know to stay that way before sweeping down. The back of his hand was slow to travel down the shape of her body, and Ela sighed as he grazed over her breasts, then her hip, barely touching her sex before moving down her leg. In all this she hadn’t removed her shoes, she duly realized. Cullen did so then, leaving hot wet kisses on both her ankles before they fell to the floor.

There was only one garment that remained that separated her from total nakedness. She wanted him to see all of her, yet the frantic, primal way he pinned her down moments earlier was gone, replaced with a gentle Cullen. One who wanted to prolong. He was such a contradiction. A mix of gentleness and tenderness, inter-played with dominance and primality. She couldn’t decide which one she loved more.

He was seated between her legs. Her arms splayed out still, she wrapped her leg over his back as his hands thumbed the lace of her panties. She tilted her hips up, expecting him to remove them, but instead she felt the hot wet press of his mouth over her clothed heat. It was enough to further arouse but not enough to give any sort of satisfaction, and she whimpered, the sounds becoming louder as he moved down, gently nipping at her thigh.

“Cullen…I want…”

“What dearest?” he asked her. “What do you want?”

Dearest. He had called her that before as part of their masquerade, but never like this. Never with his head, buried between her thighs. It was perfect how he said it. A low growl, a promise. Enticing and compelling.

“What do you want?” he repeated, his stubble tickling her thighs. “Tell me.”

“Your mouth.”

“Where?”

“You know where!”

His low chuckle against her skin was enough to make her even wetter, and when at last he removed her panties, and he buried his head between her, her cry was so loud, so high pitched, she wondered if anyone else in the hotel could hear. She gave not a care as his tongue expertly drew circles around her clit. He was guided and egged on by her moans, and it felt so fucking good that she couldn’t help her hips from spasming, couldn’t help how her hands drifted down to knot his hair. He moaned, and the vibrations were heavenly. This was more than paradise, and as he gently inserted one finger inside her, crooking it just enough to hit that spot, she felt her orgasm as more than a sensation, more than warmth. It was heaven. Exquisite and satisfying, mixed with just enough hell to make it the right amount of sinful. And Cullen was her devil, entirely too proud for what he had done.

She pulled him in, made him blanket his body on top of hers as she kissed the smirk away, tasting her taste of salt and musk on his lips. Yet there was more, more she craved, needed. So her hands traveled down, yanked off his slacks. He helped her, and when they were removed and they both felt the press of each other’s skins for the first time, she couldn’t help but slide her hand down and reach for him. He was warm in her hands, and she experimentally drew circles with her thumb against the tip before she wrapped her hand fully around and gripped. Whatever smirk he wore before was gone, his face a canvas of bliss and delight. So enthralling to see a man so powerful, become this undone. By her.

He took both her hands and once again lifted them over her head. She was so wet she could feel the dampness underneath her on the bedsheets. There was a moment he paused, seeking, and searching for something in her eyes. Permission. Approval. She could shout it to the rooftops how much she wanted, but she settled for a kiss. Their lips exchanged and parted, their tongues danced, and Cullen was inside her with a long and slow thrust.

“Maker,” he panted, his brows furrowed in intense concentration. He had made her so aroused with his lips and with the way he touched her there was no pain, but rather only the simple, yet exquisite feeling of fullness. She wiggled her hips in a wordless plea to move. He obliged, gently sliding in and out in a slow and steady assertion of his adoration. He made love to her, and it was a divine, slow torture. It was a dance, much like the one they had danced together earlier, only it was a dance of another sort. And the more kisses they exchanged, the more a fire burned inside. The more she wanted to experience him in a different way. Not a slow waltz, but something hard and fast. She didn’t know how to tell him, so she tugged on his hair, let her hands travel down to grip him, to implore him to move faster. His willpower broke with a groan, and she delightedly cried at the feel of him, harder and deeper. Cullen was a canvas of many colors. Calming blues, tender and romantic interspersed with vibrant and passionate reds, eager to make her feel good and have her this rougher and much more primal way. She wrapped her legs around him, peppered his shoulders and every bit of skin she could reach with her lips, and felt the blissful tide of him relentlessly filling her. She wanted a lifetime of this. A lifetime of exploring his every different shade, every different color. Even though she knew she was fooling herself. A lifetime of him would still not be enough.

They didn’t want it to end, but she could feel the slight pulsations, could feel that his end was nigh. His fingers drifted toward her clit, and he still moved inside her as she came around his cock. Her name was his chant and prayer, and as her orgasm ebbed she had a new longing, to feel the spread of him inside her. His name became her own chant, and with a strangled grasp, he came inside of her. He was warm as she held onto him, made his end last, and let herself watch him come. In bliss he closed his eyes, sighing at the feeling of her before burying his head in the crook of her neck. She held him, holding onto the feeling of him inside of her, holding on to how beautiful and alive he made her feel. She made sure to make every last moment last.

Fevered kisses accompanied their parting, Ela already mourning the fullness of him inside of her. Spent, Cullen moved to his back. Rolling over to meet him, she entwined their legs, stroked his cheek and smoothed away his hair. He held her as she did, never stopping her adorative touches. Everyone they had seen, everyone they had met in their mission saw the mask of a powerful, grounded man, but this was Cullen. This was the man she had fallen in love with.

“Stay,” he pleaded, weaving his hands through her long hair. “Please don’t leave.”

There was more to it. His question ran deeper than asking if she would merely stay the night. Could she answer him, “always?” It implied so much, and they were both taught that there was no “always” in their kind of work.

But she did. She promised him always. It was the sanest thing she had ever done.

They fell asleep together, as them, free of the masquerade. And it was not until morning that the masks were on again.

Yet she knew. Come night, and they were alone, they would be off once more.


End file.
